


Empty Capsules and Cataclysmic Comedians

by poetsandzombies



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Sex, Fix-It of Sorts, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Tenderness, canon divergence - It: Chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetsandzombies/pseuds/poetsandzombies
Summary: The divorce, which would not be finalized for another two years, began, so far as Eddie knew or could tell, with an inhaler.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 30
Kudos: 620





	Empty Capsules and Cataclysmic Comedians

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking to escape the hell of IT canon, look no further. This fic has everything: romance, comedy, crying at the In-N-Out, and tender scar kisses.
> 
> WARNING: I do allude to the abuse in Eddie's relationship with his mother and how that factors into his marriage briefly, and the aftermath of that on Eddie. I think its brief and light, but still worth mentioning.

The divorce, which would not be finalized for another two years, began, so far as Eddie knew or could tell, with an inhaler. 

It laid absurdly on Eddie’s nightstand a week after his return from Derry, uncapped with its mouthpiece tilted upwards as though threatening to kiss Eddie’s lips and lull him back into submission. Eddie regarded it warily from his spot in the doorway, feeling the pulse on the underside of his wrist quickening, unsure of where it had come from. 

As it turned out, it had been Myra who had put it there. Myra, with her obscure gentleness and rounded cruelty, who’d gone and picked up the prescription Eddie had deliberately ignored earlier that week. 

“Myra. Honey,” Eddie called, trying to ignore the way his throat was closing up. “I told you I didn’t need that anymore.” 

Myra came out from the bathroom then, expression unconcerned, but she wouldn't meet Eddie’s eyes. 

“I know you feel that way,” she said, moving over by the bed. She pulled the covers down with clean and meticulous fingers. “But you’ll be grateful for it next time you get one of your nightmares.” 

Eddie didn’t realize until that moment how much he had hoped his life wouldn’t have to change. He’d thought he could shrink the size of his medicine cabinet, get his hands dirty more often, and maybe take his dental hygienist off speed dial, and it would be that easy. And Myra, who he really did love, even if it was in the way his mother taught him how to love—and was there _really_ anything wrong with that?—would support him through the whole ordeal because surely she only wanted the best for him. 

But there was so much more room in his head now that his mother's voice no longer occupied it, and as he stood in the threshold between the staircase and his bedroom, feeling for perhaps the first time that there was room for fear between he and Myra on their king sized bed, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. 

_It_ couldn’t be blamed for everything, after all. And he was not a stupid man, but how often did people genuinely change anyway? 

So the divorce itself only took about 3 months, but it took a month just to get the word out of Eddie’s mouth, and then there was the year of separation, all the little inconveniences in between, and finally, the paperwork. 

Eddie had found himself traveling in the weeks since signing his divorce papers. Never having lived on his own before, and with the unbearable restlessness he felt beneath the soles of his feet in the quiet, one-bedroom apartment he rented, he gathered up all the unused vacation time he'd accrued over the years and did the only thing he knew he could do well—he drove. And the longer he drove—the more the road stretched out in front of him—the further away he got from his split reflection in the cracked-open medicine cabinet, the more he started thinking about Derry. The more he started thinking about his friends. 

He'd kept a tight hold on his company during the two-year divorce, which is to say he hadn't reached out to the others at all. He knew they made him braver, and he knew unquestionably that he could do it with them—just knowing they had his back—which was exactly why he didn't. He needed to know he could do it on his own. 

He didn't like that doing it alone had taken so long, but if 27 years couldn't wedge a gap between their friendship, what was two more? 

That's what he told himself anyway, on the morning he received the email notifying him that a judge had finally signed off on his divorce papers. He was feeling particularly heavy with the guilt of unanswered phone calls—which admittedly hadn't been excessive, though enough for his absence to be noticeable and deliberate—and somewhere between the subject line and pdf attachments he didn’t care to open, it suddenly occurred to him, as though he hadn't previously been aware of it, that he was in L.A. 

Richie Tozier came to mind then, who Eddie knew lived somewhere nearby, but also thought must be out of town on tour elsewhere. He thought this over with distant curiosity, tapping the top of his phone with an index finger and biting down on the inside of his cheek. 

A quick search told Eddie that Richie Tozier was not on tour at all. As it turned out, Richie Tozier was right here, at home, doing a show not 20 miles from Eddie's hotel room. And there must have been somewhere, maybe a local paper or a poster outside a shop he’d passed, that Eddie had _seen_ that. Because Eddie Kaspbrak had never made an accidental turn in his life, and hadn't he known that as well? 

The venue wasn't but a half-hour away, but Eddie left that night fifteen minutes later than he should have, almost as though trying to convince himself his decision to go was a last-minute thing. The steering wheel was cold beneath his hands—the road smooth beneath the tires—and as he drove, he thought of Richie. 

Eddie hadn’t seen him since Derry, since the deadlights and Pennywise, since... since the kissing bridge. 

That’s right, the kissing bridge. Richie had pulled Eddie aside before their flights home and shown him the small bend in the bridge by Bassey park where he had carved their initials back when they were kids. He'd touched the soft, weathered edges of their names and told Eddie that he loved him. And Eddie...well, Eddie didn’t know how to be serious with Richie when their lives weren’t teetering on the edge of danger, and the whole thing had overwhelmed him to tears. Richie along with him. 

He shook his head now and tried to rid himself of the memory, along with the nagging thoughts that came with it—the ones he hadn't had time for under the stress of no medicine and divorce—as he pulled up to the venue. 

It was small, quite small for a man with a following as big as Richie had, but Eddie figured, as his feet shuffled against the pavement, that he must do shows here all the time. 

The girl at the ticket booth outside didn't even flinch when Eddie approached, her cheek in her hand. 

"He's already started, you know," she said, voice muffled in the palm of her hand. Eddie gave her a shaky smile, even though she wasn't looking at him. 

"Any tickets left?" He tried anyway. She looked up at him then, curious amusement in the arch of her eyebrow. 

"One." She straightened up. "You know these shows normally sell out?" 

"Lucky me, I guess," Eddie shrugged, although he wasn't all that surprised. 

Eddie entered the theater on a lull. As he shuffled through the cramped rows of people to his seat, he looked up to the stage and nearly tripped over the feet of an audience member at the sight of Richie Tozier, standing mic in hand, elbow propped up on the mic stand. 

It wasn't as though he'd forgotten this time, but seeing Richie was like remembering all over again. 

There was a quick, sharp boo somewhere in the crowd across the theater as Eddie finally situated himself in his seat and Richie shot a grin over in that direction. 

"Thank you!" he said. "I've tried that joke five times now and it hasn't worked once. But it makes _me_ laugh, so." He shrugged and let out a little, involuntary huff of laughter. 

Richie had a charming stage persona live, Eddie realized, as he settled into the rest of the show. These were raw—probably new—jokes and they didn't always click with the audience, but Richie moved around stage with a sort of graceless freedom that was so unlike his older shows, the ones Eddie had watched before he knew he _knew_ Richie. Eddie found his laughter matched it; a strange, uninhibited sort of laughter—something limitless. It came from childhood. 

He must have arrived even later than he'd meant to, because Richie was thanking the audience and saying goodnight much quicker than Eddie had anticipated. 

He followed the crowds of people filing out the theater and spilling out into the lobby, but hung back by the front doors. He debated just going back to his hotel room then—two years was simultaneously too long and not long enough, it felt like—but he found he already had his phone in his hand before he could even really think about it. 

The phone rang once, twice, and then he heard a soft buzzing sound and surprised voice on the other end. 

"Eddie?" 

* * *

"Eddie Kaspbrak." 

Richie stepped out into the lobby an hour after his show ended. The lobby had since cleared out, except for a handful of employees still cleaning up, the security guards, and Eddie. 

Eddie felt his heart jostle in his throat at the sight of him. When he had been a kid, that's all it had been—a jostling heart, a stomach flip. Now, he could recognize the definitive pull towards the shape of Richie's glasses and the way they fit on his face, his fairly intimidating height over Eddie's, and the aged lines in his cheeks when he smiled. 

_Oh_ , Eddie thought, as Richie smiled at him. How had he not noticed the way Richie looked at him before? 

"Hey, Richie," he said, a breath too late, when he realized he'd been thinking too long. "It's been a minute." 

" _Yeah,_ " Richie agreed, like he knew more about it than Eddie did. 

Eddie didn't respond and they were quiet for a moment, neither seeming to know what to say. Then Richie gestured over Eddie's body vaguely. "You look good. Lighter, I mean. Somehow." 

Eddie nodded. "Must be the divorce." 

It wasn't what he meant to say, but reunions are never what they're supposed to be. They would always, in some part, be about reverting back to the place you first met someone. Richie's smile faltered awkwardly. 

"Oh, Eddie, I'm—I’m sorry," he said, tone soft. 

Eddie waved him off. "It's for the best, I think." 

Richie smiled again, shoving his hands in his coat pockets, and he was hard to look away from like that. 

"Are you hungry?" Eddie asked. 

Richie looked around and considered that with a shrug. "I could eat. Mind driving?"   


Richie seemed to relax once they left the venue he had just performed at, and even more so when he got into Eddie's car—putting his feet up on the dash, controlling the music, and directing Eddie to a burger place apparently right by his apartment. They were never teenagers together, but Eddie imagined this might have been what it'd be like. 

Time was funny like that. 

"So you've been travelling?" Richie asked once they'd settled onto the road. 

"Just a little, for now," Eddie answered absently, eyes directly ahead of him. 

"Well, if you ever need a place to stay..." 

Eddie chanced a glance over at him. "Thanks, Rich," he said, touched. 

Richie frowned. "No, I was going say Bill only lives like an hour away from here." He reclined back in his seat and looked over at Eddie, laughing when he scowled. 

Yeah. Time was a funny thing. 

"It's gonna be up here on your right." Richie sat up in his seat and pointed a little bit up the road. Eddie saw the big red and yellow sign and his scowl deepened as he pulled in. 

" _Richie_ ," he exclaimed. "You said you knew a burger place." 

He parked and turned to Richie, who was giving him an uncomprehending look. 

"This _is_ a burger place," he said defensively. 

Eddie gestured up to the restaurant with exasperation. "This is In-N-Out."   


Eddie was out of the car before Richie and, eager to get out of the cold, he started heading up to the building without him. 

"Hang on, Eddie," Richie called out. Eddie turned around just as Richie was catching up. "The entrance is actually this way." 

Richie put a hand on the small of Eddie's back and redirected him towards the front doors. 

Eddie furrowed his brows in alarm, startled by the way Richie's touch affected him. Not necessarily by the feeling itself, but by the fact that it was no different than how it had felt all the other times Richie had touched him in the past; what was _different_ was the clarity he had to recognize it for what it was. 

It had been hard to know how he felt about anything when he'd had a voice in his head that spoke for him, after all. _Don’t touch your friends, Eddie_ , it would say. _They’re dirty_ **.**

But Eddie had liked when Richie touched him–when his fingers brushed his cheeks or when their legs sometimes pressed against each other in the small confines of their hammock. Safe wasn’t the word for it exactly, because Eddie never really _did_ feel safe–especially in the summer of 1989–but it reminded him that he wasn’t alone. And when he wasn’t alone, he could bear to feel unsafe. 

His head was quiet now, and he knew that there was more to it than that, as he found himself leaning in close to Richie's side as they walked along the sidewalk, and that nagging day back at the bridge came back to him. 

What he was feeling here was yearning, and a deep-seated want for intimacy with Richie. 

* * *

“How’s the burger?” 

“Greasy.” 

“Eddie, it’s a _burger_.” 

“Fries are good.” 

They sat in a booth in the back corner of In-N-Out, two plates of food on the table between them—Richie's mostly gone, Eddie's hardly touched. He'd decided he wasn't all that hungry after all, and wiped his mouth with a wad of napkins, propped his elbows up, and watched Richie finish off his fries. 

"So, um. How are the others?" 

It was only the second most nagging question he'd had that night, but he had to look away as he asked it. 

Richie nodded as he finished swallowing. "Good! They're good," he said. "I talk to Mike on the phone a lot. And Bev sometimes, too, but they're all pretty busy. I think we're trying to get together for Thanksgiving this year, though." 

"Oh?" Eddie raised his eyebrows and picked a fry off his plate, hoping the way he was holding his breath wasn't obvious. "Count me in." 

Richie was watching him carefully, something guarded on his face. Finally, he smiled. "Yeah?" 

"Mhm," Eddie mumbled over his mouthful of fry. 

A couple moments passed between them, the conversation not quite having left, and Richie's smile faded. "You know, Eddie. I thought I'd never see you again." 

His voice was quiet, and Eddie understood something then; this would be the only thing he'd say about the last time they saw each other. 

Eddie softened. "Yeah, I know." 

And that would be the only thing _he_ would say about his two-year absence. "So hey," he moved on, when the tension was starting to drag and it didn't look like Richie was going to say anything. "I noticed you started writing your own material.” 

Richie snorted. “How could you tell?” 

Eddie shrugged. “You’ve always laughed at your own jokes.” 

Richie hummed in response, stealing a fry off Eddie's plate and dipping it into his ketchup, but not eating it. 

“Yeah, well I,” he frowned slightly, “I figured it was time.” 

His mouth wobbled strangely then, and suddenly he burst into laughter. Eddie watched him, curious and stunned, as Richie sat back in his booth, face scrunched up in absurd hysterics until tears started filling his eyes. Then, out of nowhere, he started _crying_. 

“Jesus, Richie!” Eddie said, startled. Richie propped his elbows up on the table and buried his face in his hands, shoulders heaving as he legitimately sobbed. “Rich, hang on. It's...it’s okay.” 

He had no idea what else to say, not entirely understanding what was wrong to begin with. Eddie reached out for one of Richie’s hands, gripping it tightly on the table between their burgers, feeling panic rise in his throat; a couple that had just sat down a few tables down were glancing over at them now. 

Eddie didn't think he'd ever seen Richie cry like this before, even when they were kids, and if he didn't stop soon, Eddie was sure he would start crying right along with him. 

It didn't come to that, thankfully. Richie eventually pulled his free hand away from his face and took a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes were bright red and his face was wet, but he'd stopped crying. Eddie squeezed his hand gently. 

“Richie, hey,” he tried again when he saw that his breathing had slowed. “Come on. The jokes weren’t _that_ bad.” 

Richie sniffed and offered him a watery smile. 

“Shut up and eat your fries.” 

It was easier after that, somehow. Sometimes you didn't need to talk about things—sometimes you just needed to cry over a table of burgers about them, and have a friend witness it. Eddie could see that the last couple of years had been about as easy on Richie as it had been on Eddie. But Derry had been like breaking a 27-year-old dam in that way, and now they were just waiting for the water to even out again. 

It was a good thing, Eddie decided, as their conversations slipped back into the easier spaces. Richie was teasing Eddie again, something that had been suspiciously absent through the night. And Eddie was trying to sort through all the different things Richie's teasing made him feel.   


They stayed until close, walked out together shoulder to shoulder, and spent the short drive from In-N-Out to Richie's in an argument over Mr. Keene's dead-or-alive status; it wasn't quiet, but it was uneventful. When they pulled in, Eddie parked, and got out of the car with Richie. Richie watched him come around with an amused tilt in his head. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. 

Eddie drew his eyebrows together. "I'm walking you to your door," he said. 

Richie laughed. "You know I'm like, half a foot taller than you, right?" 

"Okay, you are not _that_ much taller than me." 

It had seemed, as he was getting out of the car, like the natural thing to do. But now that Richie mentioned it, it _was_ sort of strange. But he pushed on anyway, pressing into Richie's side for warmth as they walked. Richie didn't draw away from him and when their fingers brushed, it wasn't weird. 

Eddie wondered what Richie was thinking about. If it was the same thing he was thinking about—the kissing bridge. 

"You'll stay in touch, right?" Richie asked, as if to read his mind. They'd reached an apartment door on the first floor that Richie stopped at, fishing keys out of his pocket. "Bill's been getting weepy about it," he added. He smiled, and Eddie laughed. 

"Of course," he said. "I missed you guys." His heart ached with it; for all his friends, but it stressed especially for the man right in front of him. 

"Good. Us too." Richie had a hand on the doorknob now, and Eddie thought it was too late for him—and too soon all at once—and decided he'd better leave. 

"Well," he tried. "Thank you for remembering me." 

It was supposed to be a joke, although it came out cracked and hollow and didn't sound funny at all, really. 

Richie wrinkled his nose, opened his mouth, and for a minute looked like he was about to save them both. 

But Eddie didn't give him the chance. There was this way Richie looked at him—a way he'd _always_ looked at him—like he could have the whole world, but would never say it out loud, and, so agonized by the prospect of departure, Eddie saw a lifetime with Richie in that look that had nothing to do with their past, and before he knew what he was doing, he had Richie's face in his hands, and he was kissing him. 

He could tell he'd startled Richie, who let himself be dragged down to Eddie's height, and he hadn't meant to be sharp, to be aggressive about it, but he wasn't sure he could say this with words and he was always so scared people didn't hear him. So he kissed harder, opened his mouth and kissed deeper, and Richie had his arms out by his side like he couldn't decide whether to reach for the door or for Eddie. 

Finally, maybe because it seemed like Eddie wasn't going to stop anytime soon, Richie wrapped one strong and desperate arm around his waist and grabbed the doorknob with the other. Somewhere over the roaring in his ears, Eddie could hear the jingle of keys and a door swing open, and then he was being pulled out from the cold and into Richie's apartment. 

Eddie felt around with his foot and kicked the door closed behind them, because Richie was kissing him back now, both hands on his hips, warm and gentle. He slowed their movements down until Eddie understood that he could breathe again, and pull away without falling apart. 

He did so; just a little, just enough to see Richie's soft, pink lips and dazed expression. 

"Woah," Richie whispered. Eddie didn't think he could feel any more than he had in the moments before kissing Richie, but there was a cataclysmic rattle in Richie's voice that surfaced all yearning and memory and desire and nostalgia and affection and childhood. These things came up like smoke and threatened to close Eddie's throat shut, but he knew he could tell himself now, after two years, that he didn’t have to suppress every large feeling. 

"Yeah," he said, because that's apparently what the culmination of all those feelings amounted to, and kissed him again, this time with less desperation and more simple eagerness. 

Eddie had never mastered kissing, in college or in the years since then, but Richie didn't seem to notice or mind it, and he liked the way their mouths moved together; it was sloppy and uncoordinated, but synchronized, which was how they did most things together. 

They stood unmoving in the entrance for a long stretch of time just kissing, until it occurred to Eddie that Richie was letting him guide things. And that would have been fine, really, except for the fact that this was Richie's house. 

"Where, um..." Eddie mumbled against Richie's lips, now trying to get him out of his coat as he did so. 

"Where do you want—" Richie responded, voice weak. 

"Uh, bedroom?" 

"Oh." Richie broke away from Eddie, blinking at him. Eddie gripped Richie's t-shirt by his hip looked at him, scared he'd asked for too much, too soon. Then Richie smiled, leaned in and kissed him, quick and light. "Yeah. Okay." 

He took Eddie's hand and led him past the kitchen and living room towards a doorway down the hall. Eddie watched his back and the way his shoulders moved under thin fabric, all new and old wants growing by the second. 

Richie opened the door, seemed to peak into the room, and closed it back just as quickly. He turned his back to it and offered Eddie a sheepish smile. 

"What is it?" Eddie asked. 

"I left my laundry all over the bed," Richie said. 

Eddie blinked. "Oh," he blurted. "Well, are they dirty?" 

Richie shook his head. "No, all clean." 

"Then it's fine." Eddie couldn't imagine himself caring about that sort of thing, especially now. "Wait," he said as Richie's hand closed over the doorknob again. Richie turned back to him and Eddie, deliriously brave, reached out slipped his hands under Richie's shirt and pulled up; Richie lifted his arms so Eddie could pull it over his head. He dropped the material on the floor by the door and then looked at Richie appreciatively—the soft, aged skin over his stomach and chest—the bony elbows—the nicked scars on his shoulders that told stories of when they were kids. 

Richie watched Eddie look him over, looked down at _himself_ , and raised a confused eyebrow at Eddie. Eddie rolled his eyes and leaned up and kissed him, deep and slow, reaching around him and opening the door as he did. 

He backed Richie into the room between more kisses, moving around blindly until the back of Richie's legs hit the side of the bed and he fell back on it. Richie sat up on the edge and pulled Eddie between his thighs, tugging the soft cotton of Eddie's t-shirt upward. Eddie helped him, pulling the shirt over his head and shivering at the chill in the air—or perhaps the sudden vulnerability. 

Richie's eyes moved down from Eddie's face to the scar tissue on his chest, between his rib cage. Eddie had spent the last two years avoiding this spot in the mirror, but Richie's warm, callused hand brushed over it and suddenly he could look at it without his stomach lurching viscerally. Then Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie's waist and kissed it, with a tenderness Eddie had never known before. He kissed the white flesh as though to say I _know you—I was here for you—you hurt me too_ —and all Eddie could do was comb his fingers through the soft curls of Richie's hair and brace his legs against the bed so his knees didn't buckle under the touch. 

Richie kissed Eddie lower, sweet and open down his chest to his stomach. His hands came around to his jeans and Eddie watched, dizzy and overwhelmed, as he struggled with the top button. A moment passed, and then two, with Richie's fingers white and shaky, until eventually he stopped and dropped his head to Eddie's chest. 

"Eddie," he said hoarsely, "I have no idea what I'm doing." 

Eddie pulled Richie's hair gently, tilting his head up to look at him. 

"Your pants don't come with buttons?" 

It was all he could think to say, and it was becoming too quiet between them, but luckily Richie laughed, and Eddie felt better about it. 

"Listen, you think I do? I was married to a woman for ten years." 

He unbuttoned his own pants to make it easier. Richie’s smile faltered and he swallowed, slipping his fingers through the belt-loops and helping Eddie out of them, and then his boxers. 

Eddie could hardly stand the air on his exposed skin and immediately pulled himself close to Richie, bringing his knees up to the mattress on either side of his hips, straddling him. 

From this angle, Eddie could—for the first time—feel the bulge in Richie's pants pressing against him. This brought on a whole new layer to his want; something he had known, but not physically thought of until now. He pressed his hips into Richie's experimentally, then surged forward and kissed him to mute the soft moan in the back of his throat. Richie fell back into the mattress, keeping a firm hold on Eddie as he did. 

"Hey Rich," Eddie murmured, moving his mouth down to kiss his jaw and his neck. "Do you, uh. Do you have...?" But he couldn't seem to finish the sentence. Thankfully, Richie understood what he meant and nodded. 

"Yeah," he said, a hitch in his voice. He patted Eddie's hip and moved out from underneath him, over by the nightstand by his pillows, kicking small stacks of folded laundry off the bed as he did so. After some awkward shuffling through the drawer, he came back with a pack of condoms and a small bottle of lube, both still wrapped in their plastic packaging, unopened. 

Eddie thought of Richie then, alone in a convenience store with his heart in his throat—enough forethought and care for himself to buy these things in case something happened, but never using them. The image left Eddie with an overwhelming and unrecognizable feeling twisting in his chest. 

"I love you," he blurted. It should have been obvious, but Richie looked up from tearing the plastic off the condom pack and blinked at him, mouth parted. Eddie made his way across the bed to Richie, cupped the back of his neck, and kissed him. "I love you," he said again. 

Richie put a hand over Eddie's on his neck and brought them up to his mouth, lips brushing across his knuckles. "I've loved you my whole life." 

He leaned back in to keep kissing Eddie, and Eddie's hands flew to his jeans, impatient and in love and excited all at once. Richie kicked his legs helpfully until he was free of both his pants and his boxers, which Eddie tossed to the floor. He looked uncomfortable and aroused, and confused about the two contrasting feelings all at once. 

Eddie curled his fingers through Richie's hair and guided him down so that Eddie was laying back on the mattress and Richie was on top of him. 

It was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore how hard Eddie was, or how good it felt to have Richie between his legs, but Richie's moves were agonizingly slow; he seemed content to keep his hands on Eddie's hips and kiss him into delirium. Eddie groaned in frustration and moved one of his hands lower for him, between his legs. Richie kissed Eddie harder, as if out of gratitude, slid his hand up Eddie's thigh, and hesitantly—nervously—pressed a lubed finger into him. 

It was strange, at first. Completely unfamiliar and a little uncomfortable. But Eddie liked the way he trusted Richie, and felt safe with him, and it got better with two fingers, and even better with three, until Eddie's hips were arching off the mattress to meet Richie's movements. Richie had stopped kissing him by then, seeming lost and fixated on the way Eddie was reacting to his touch. 

"Is this okay?" he asked. 

"Yeah, Richie," Eddie said breathlessly. "You're a genius." 

Richie pulled his fingers out of Eddie and sat back on his legs, laughing lightly as he felt around for where he'd left the condoms. "I don't think I can take credit for the invention of sex," he said, but his neck and chest reddened at Eddie's words. 

Eddie propped himself up on wobbly elbows and watched Richie carefully roll a condom over his erection with shaking fingers, eyes blurring dizzily. Finally, Richie held himself steady and came back down to Eddie, who settled back into the pillows and touched Richie's cheek softly. 

"I want you so bad," he whispered. 

"Are you sure?" Richie looked down at the small space between their two bodies. "Because I don't know that I'll be able to turn this around at Thanksgiving if you change your mind later." 

Eddie snorted with laughter. "I think we passed that point a little bit ago." 

Richie huffed and nodded his agreement, resituated their bodies as best he could, and, apparently losing a bit his own patience, pushed into Eddie. Eddie tilted his head back into the mattress let out a soft little gasp, but Richie kept his gentle nature and cautious pace. 

All of it was overwhelming, and emotional. Eddie couldn't tell if he was coming apart or finally being put together, and some of these things were about Richie, but others were only Richie-adjacent. He hugged Richie's hips tight between his thighs as Richie rolled his hips into him, still careful and slow, and pulled Richie down into a sloppy kiss to muffle the unrestrained moans that were escaping his lips. 

"I—woah—I didn't know it could feel like this," he breathed, raw and honest, because the pleasure pooling low in his gut was too much and it felt for the first time like he understood what sex was all about. 

Richie's hips stuttered when he said that and he buried his face in the crook of Eddie's neck. "Jesus, Eddie, I'm not going to last like that." 

"Don't...don't try to," Eddie said suddenly, and found that he meant it. They had what he could only hope was the rest of their lives for this. This time didn't have to be perfect, or even good; it just had to happen. 

Richie seemed to hear him, _really_ hear him, and let go of some of his tight restraint, thrusting into Eddie a little more recklessly. Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie's neck and matched his thrusts as best he could, encouraged by the breathy, uncontrolled moans in his ear, feeling himself close just by the thought that _he_ was the one making Richie sound like that. 

Richie reached a hand down awkwardly between their body's and began stroking Eddie and Eddie, stunned by the two simultaneous points of stimulation, could not have lasted even if he had wanted to. He came with a shout, Richie's name rough and torn on his lips, arching off the bed. 

"God, Eddie," Richie moaned, holding his hips in his hands in the air, and then he was coming too. 

Eddie must have dazed off immediately afterwards because Richie was gone the next time he opened his eyes. He sat up and moved to get out of bed, but felt his legs were still too weak and decided against it. He leaned back against the headboard instead, appreciating the warm and content buzz over his skin, looking around at the mess of clothes strewn across the floor. There were a couple of Richie's t-shirts on the carpet by his side and he bent down to grab one.   
Richie came in just as he was pulling it over his head, dressed in clean pajama bottoms and holding a glass of water, which he handed to Eddie. He smiled when he saw him in his t-shirt. 

"Hi," Eddie said, voice fuzzy. 

"Hi," Richie responded. He hesitated briefly, and then moved in for a kiss, which Eddie leaned into it gratefully. Richie came around the other side of the bed and pulled the covers out, getting in underneath. He watched Eddie drink half his water in one gulp, something quiet and bright in his eyes. 

"So divorced, huh?" he said after a few moments of silence. 

Eddie laughed, but exhaustion pulled at his muscles and he was too tired for banter. "Yeah, Rich," he told him. The last ounce of sadness, this idea that getting divorced, in the same way that leaving home, would find Eddie alone and incapable, was gone. 

Richie nodded appreciatively, eyeing Eddie. "It's a good look on you." 

Eddie rolled his eyes. " _You're_ a good look on me." He fit himself into Richie's side and settled down, resting his head on Richie's chest. He felt around beneath the blankets and hugged Richie's waist. 

Richie was quiet for a long time, and then finally wrapped an arm around Eddie's shoulder and pulled him in closer. "You're amazing," he said quietly, kissing his temple. "Thank you for finding me." 

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh I usually write short drabbles and this was very difficult for me so I hope y'all found something, even a single line, worth reading!!! lmao.
> 
> tumblr: trashmouthkid


End file.
